


logical fallacy

by markohmark



Series: asian american extracurricular activities [3]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Arguing as flirting, Confessions, Friends to Lovers, Friends to Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Growing Up, M/M, New York City, Non-Linear Narrative, Pining, Slow Burn, debate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 00:06:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18000032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/markohmark/pseuds/markohmark
Summary: “You want to knowwhywe can’t be together?” Mark asks Donghyuck. He shakes his head ruefully, head rushing. “I can’t even begin to count the reasons.”“Do you think you candebateme out of my feelings?” Donghyuck asks, scathing. He crosses his arms. “Fine, try me.”(Or, Mark has known Donghyuck for a third of his life. He's still figuring things out)





	logical fallacy

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to div (as always) for being the best beta ever <3  
> let me know if any of the debate stuff isn't explained well! i'll try to clarify~  
> Neg case - arguing against the topic / Aff case - arguing for the topic / SHSAT - entrance exam into NYC's specialized high schools
> 
> logical fallacy - an error in reasoning that renders an argument invalid

Nothing could _possibly_ be worse in Mark Lee’s life right now. Not only is he a Struggling Senior™ with his college applications, but he’s also got three days before his first debate tournament of the year with a shitty Neg case _and_ Donghyuck Lee as the only person he knows in his AP Physics class.

The alphabetical assigned seating leaves Mark at the end of a row, with Donghyuck to his left. Which would be fine, of course—Mark’s no stranger to sitting next to people he doesn’t get along with. Except—

“For the first quarter, I’m going to assign your lab partners alphabetically,” Mr. Lee says. “So the person next to you is your lab partner!”

Donghyuck turns to face him, eyes widening in surprise.

_Oh, fuck._

 

 

 

 

This is it how it starts:

Donghyuck is unlike any person Mark has ever met. In middle school, the two of them are best friends, almost out of necessity more than anything else. Donghyuck’s family recently moved into their apartment complex. His mom, worried about Donghyuck being a latchkey kid, deposits him in care of Mark, a year older and purportedly more responsible.

Turns out, Mark isn’t nearly as responsible as Donghyuck’s mother makes him out to me.

“I’m _hungry_ ,” Donghyuck whines. He’s watching Mark do his math homework. Donghyuck’s supposed to be working on his English project, but instead he’s doodling little stick figures onto the half-sheets of shitty school paper that Mark uses for scratch work. For such a smart kid, he slacks off a lot more than he should.

Mark looks up, considering. “There are some snacks in the cupboard,” he says. “Mostly healthy stuff, though.”

Donghyuck makes a face at Mark’s suggestion. “My mom told me to not eat food at your house,” he says.

“Really?” Mark asks.

“It’s a bother to you and your mother,” Donghyuck says, very seriously, in such a way that immediately alerts that he’s parroting the words of his parents. He breaks into a pout again. “But…”

“But?” Mark prompts. He has a feeling he’ll regret asking.

“But, I got money from my parents last week,” Donghyuck announces, fishing the dollar bills out of his pocket. “Let’s go get popsicles!” This year, spring in Flushing seems to have skipped directly into humid, muggy heat. A cold treat seems like more than a good idea.

Mark checks the time off of the oven clock. It’s 4:15, and his parents don’t usually come back until 5:30—they’ll have more than enough time to be back without his parents catching on.

“Okay,” Mark says hesitantly. “Let me just make sure I have money.” He can only think of one place where he can get a spare $2.50 from. The thought of taking money out of his piggy bank almost physically pains him—he had been saving up to buy an Xbox console.

Donghyuck follows him to his bedroom, watching from outside the door. “I can pay for you,” Donghyuck calls.

As if. Mark rolls his eyes at the thought. “How much do you have?”

“Um… Four dollars.”

Mark closes his eyes. It’s not enough. He feels the hefty weight of the piggy bank in his hands.

He turns back to look at Donghyuck, standing by the doorway. In the afternoon sunlight, Donghyuck seems to be alight, half of his body in bright white. Donghyuck’s squinting in order to make eye contact with Mark; after a moment, he sticks his tongue out.

Mark laughs to himself quietly. Is it even a choice, when it comes to Donghyuck?

 

 

 

 

Mark goes to one of the best schools—if not _the_ best—in New York City, so it doesn’t take long for all of his classes to load up with homework, projects, and assessments. In AP Physics, they’re tasked with building a fucking catapult.

“You will be expected to work on this after school,” Mr. Lee tells them, eyes shining. “You’ll have to manage your time well to complete the project in time.” For someone who’s a high school teacher, he has an almost abnormal amount of enthusiasm each class period.

 **Donghyuck Lee:** we won’t meet on debate days obvs

 **Mark Lee:** Sounds good haha

Mark tries to talk as little as possible; Donghyuck barely makes eye-contact with him. It’s horrible, the worst sort of awkward. Even with the saw making an awful amount of noise, the woodshop classroom after school seems almost deathly silent.

A testament to how Awkward they are occurs a couple of days later. The Engineering teacher, Mr. Seo, walks in to shut off the saw before realizing the two of them are there.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you guys,” he says. “I couldn’t hear anything besides the saw so I thought one of the students left it on again by accident…” Before he leaves, he gives them an odd look—almost skeptical at how quiet they were, Mark supposes.

“I know this goes without saying,” Mr. Seo tacks on, “but please don’t, um, partake in any funny business here.”

Donghyuck gives Mark a look of horror as soon as Mr. Seo leaves.

“Did he just imply that we’re—that we were—”

“Fucking around saws? _With_ saws? Yeah,” Mark replies.

Donghyuck sniffs. “I would never,” he says. Then he starts coughing because he accidentally inhaled a bunch of sawdust.

Mark laughs, and somehow _that_ is enough to break the Cold War between the two of them.

 

 

 

 

“Hey, Yerim, can I talk to you for a second?” Mark asks, wiping his hands on his jeans. His palms are sweaty. He’s unreasonably nervous.

“Sure,” Yerim replies. She shifts her weight on to one foot, looking bored as she waits for him. “What’s it about?”

“Um, you’ll see,” Mark says, starting to walk towards his locker. She hums as she follows him, the sound echoing in the empty hallways. Something about the song makes him feel on-edge. It’s nearly two hours after school, but debate practices often go long after most teachers and students have left the building.

Mark had planned this out perfectly, in his mind. The two of them are both captains of Lincoln-Douglas Debate, both in the same grade, so it makes sense to ask her to junior-year prom. Almost logical, in a way.

Mark turns to his locker, fumbling with the passcode before the lock finally clicks open. There lie the pink roses he bought during lunch today from the nearest grocery store. Simple, yet to the point.

“Will…” Mark hesitates. In the periphery of his vision, he can see someone standing by their locker. Mark planned this so that hopefully no one would overhear, lest he gets rejected.

“Well?” Yerim prompts, starting to get impatient. “Listen, I have to catch the train in five minutes, so—”

“Will you go to prom with me?” Mark asks, all in one rush. Nearby, the locker door slams shut. The sound of it startles Mark into glancing in the direction, and—

Of course. It’s Donghyuck. Mark can easily make out the red hair as Donghyuck walks away as fast as possible.

Yerim’s saying something, but Mark doesn’t know what. He blinks—once, twice—then turns back to her. Donghyuck’s imprinted onto his irises.

“Sorry,” Mark says. “What were you saying?”

Yerim rolls her eyes. “I’ll keep the flowers,” she says, softening, “but I already have a date. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Mark says. He’s still thinking about the color red, the way it seems to stand out from the grey halls and the grey skies and everything else in his life.

Yerim pats his head affectionately before turning to leave. “I’m sure someone else will say yes,” she says, eyes warm. As she walks away, she keeps humming. Mark finally recognizes the song.

_You know the world can see us… In a way that’s different from who we are…_

 

 

 

 

He and Donghyuck end up catching the same train home, as usual. Mark’s no stranger to Donghyuck’s impetuous glares and awkward stares as they wait at the platform together. Their eyes meet—once, twice—as the overhead speaker announces the arrival of the next train.

Mark can’t shake the melody out of his head, the one Yerim hummed before and after rejecting him. He keeps thinking about the memory of Donghyuck singing as the sun began to set. It’s the same time of the day, now, but the circumstances could not have changed more.

There’s one difference today—as Mark enters the subway car, Donghyuck follows quickly behind him. Usually, they make a point to sit in different cars.

Donghyuck sits next to him but doesn’t even acknowledge Mark’s awkward wave.

Mark tries to make do with pulling up the latest Latin vocab on his phone. _Dies_ _irae_ means day of wrath, and Mark’s pretty sure it has come to him in the form of Donghyuck Lee today. 

It takes two more stations for Donghyuck to turn towards him.

“You should ask Jeno to junior prom.”

Mark’s so startled that he drops his phone. Donghyuck leans over to pick it up, features twisting in disdain. His pinky finger sticks out as if he’s having tea with the Queen of England.

“What?” Mark asks. “Why—”

“Are you really that oblivious?” Donghyuck asks. “Not surprised.” He drops the phone into Mark’s lap. “Whatever, you can go alone if you really want.”

With that, he takes his phone out and jams his headphones in, ignoring Mark’s presence for the entire ride home.

 

 

 

 

After Mr. Seo’s appearance in the woodshop, they’re amicable with each other. Closer to acquaintances than friends, but at least it’s more neutral than negative, right?

Ideally, Donghyuck would be his friend. Ideally, they’d still—be close.

Ideal. What a load of bullshit. Donghyuck’s never been anything ideal, too imperfect and raw and brilliant to fit in the neat molds of Mark’s thoughts. Nothing Donghyuck does can ever be anticipated.

“Hey, wait,” Donghyuck calls. Usually, they take their leave separately—kind of foolish, Mark has thought more than once, considering they take the same train home together—and Mark’s normally the first to exit.

Mark pauses by the door, hand on the strap of his backpack. “Yeah?”

“I was thinking of getting some boba,” Donghyuck says sheepishly. “Haven’t had it for at least two weeks and I’m trying to fill up my stamp card, so.”

Ah, yes. Half of Mark Lee’s Facebook feed is Jaemin and Donghyuck tagging each other underneath memes from Subtle Asian Traits. Now, without even speaking to either of them, Mark knows what Donghyuck’s favorite bubble tea order is—brown sugar oolong with 70% sugar and no ice if anyone’s wondering—and Jaemin’s favorite type of Muji pen.

“Wanna come with?” Donghyuck asks.

Mark looks at him. He knows what it is—an olive branch, a peace treaty, some form of _détente_ they should have reached years ago.

“I have an essay due tomorrow…” Mark begins, hesitantly. Donghyuck’s face visibly dims in disappointment. “But whatever, I always write better late at night.”

“What d’you call late?” Donghyuck asks, joining Mark as they leave the room.

“Uh… Midnight?”

“You call that _late_?” Donghyuck says, almost disbelieving. “Damn, I haven’t _started_ an essay before midnight this year.”

Mark squints at him. “It’s still October,” he points out. “How many essays have you even had?”

Donghyuck hums. “Two? Plus a passage analysis.” He grimaces. “British lit is interesting, but we’re moving a lot faster this year.”

“Wait for AP Lit,” Mark replies darkly. Right now, they’re in the throes of _Rosencrantz and Guildenstern._ Like Rosencrantz, Mark is A) confused and B) ignorant of his probably terrible fate.

“Oh, I’ve heard,” Donghyuck says. “But Hamlet’s pretty good, right?”

It’s easy to talk to Donghyuck, to grin at him over cups of bubble tea, to change his Messenger contact to _Hyuck_ again.

It had been difficult to forget Donghyuck, and in some ways, Mark wonders if he ever truly forgot.

 

 

 

 

“Donghyuck, _Donghyuck_ ,” Mark repeats insistently. He grips onto his phone as if he’s holding Donghyuck himself through the line.

“What is it?” Donghyuck asks. There’s the laughter of someone else in the background, and Donghyuck shushes them.

“Oh—I’m sorry if you’re busy,” Mark says hesitantly. He runs a hand over his face, smoothing his fingers over the crease in his eyebrow.

“You called me. Twice,” Donghyuck points out. He sounds more serious than Mark has ever heard him.

“Well, then—congratulations,” Mark says. “For getting into Stuy.” It’s March right now. Last year, Mark got his own acceptance to the specialized high school in February. Donghyuck must have known for a month, Mark thinks with a sense of clarity.

Donghyuck laughs. “Did my mom tell yours?” he asks.

Donghyuck must have known for a month, but he never told Mark.

“Yeah,” Mark admits. Shame, hot and fierce, pulses through his veins. It’s the worst sort of feeling, this defeat. It feels—irreparable.

“Is this all you wanted to say?” Donghyuck says, after a moment. “‘Cause I have a friend over…”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Donghyuck hangs up without a reply.

Mark looks around him—at his PC, open to his latest Aff case, at the stack of homework he still has yet to complete, at the window outside. It snowed recently, but it’s been long enough for the snow to mix with the dirt. Everything is grey.

 

 

 

 

“Okay, but Public Forum _is_ better,” Donghyuck says. They’re waiting for the train to arrive. Autumn’s starting to set in—not just leaves falling and aesthetic Instagram posts, but actual Northeastern Cold—and Mark shivers as he stands on the platform with Donghyuck. “It’s more relevant to real life. Who the hell cares about _theory_ bullshit?”

“PF is just about how many lives you save,” Mark counters. Some of the commuters on the platform—no doubt used to the quiet peace of waiting to board the train—stare for a moment. “No nuance.”

“Do you _really_ think Deontology is valid, though?” Donghyuck asks. He leans against Mark, and the point of contact between their shoulders burns a warm imprint onto Mark’s skin. “Or do you just use it to win an argument—”

“Isn’t every debate about winning?”

“Yes, but—” The train arrives, and with it comes a slow surge of movement as everyone trudges towards the closed-compartment doors.

“And theory arguments are _interesting_ , okay,” Mark adds as he steps into the train. Donghyuck’s quick to follow, sitting down next to him with a sigh.

“I’m tired,” Donghyuck says, barely muffling a yawn. _A non sequitur,_ Mark thinks. Donghyuck’s full of them.

“We can continue the debate later, then, I guess,” Mark replies. “I totally won, though.”

“If that’s what makes you sleep at night.” Donghyuck leans against the window, closing his eyes.

From then on, the two of them take the train home together. Most of the time, Donghyuck naps and Mark works on his Calc homework. And if Donghyuck sometimes accidentally ends up sleeping on his shoulder instead of the window, well—Mark keeps it to himself.

It’s easy to slip back into friendship. The two of them get along so well—bickering, bantering or just hanging out—that Mark often forgets that they didn’t talk to each other for the past three years.

 

 

 

 

Mark can’t help it. After debate practice, he stops by the Public Forum practice rooms for a moment.

He overhears Donghyuck’s voice, clear as bells and sharp in the way it cuts through the voices of all the other Public Forum kids. It makes him pause by the door for a second. It’s a second too long, because Lucas notices him outside the classroom.

“HEY MARK!” Lucas calls. “You here to finally join PF?”

“No way in hell,” Mark replies. That’s how most of their conversations start. It’s an ongoing, well, _debate_ between the debate kids over which of Lincoln Douglas or Public Forum is better. Mark prefers LD because there’s actually some moral framework upon which an argument must be constructed, but Lucas insists that PF is superior.

“Come in, we’re doing a practice round,” Lucas says.

“Alright,” Mark says warily, stepping inside. Donghyuck pointedly doesn’t make eye-contact with him. Mark recognizes the PF captain, Jungwoo, presumably here to judge the round, but neither of the other two freshmen.

“This is my partner, Renjun,” Lucas introduces. Renjun waves. “Renjun, this is Mark. He does LD. Yes, I know, what a travesty!”

The other freshman doesn’t wait for an introduction. “I’m Jaemin Na,” he says, stepping forward to shake Mark’s hand. He stares directly into Mark’s eyes, and it’s unnerving to be faced with for more than a couple of moments.

“Um, hi?” Mark replies, wondering why Jaemin’s trying to rip his hand off. He looks over Jaemin’s shoulder, at Donghyuck, wondering if this guy’s for real. Donghyuck tries his best to conceal a smile.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Jaemin continues smoothly. Then he smiles, almost shark-like. “Jeno mentions you a lot.”

“Oh, you know Jeno?” Mark says, brightening. Jeno’s one of the new recruits in LD and is quite possibly Mark’s favorite freshman.

“We’re best friends,” Jaemin replies. Finally, thank fuck, he lets go of Mark’s hand.

“That’s… nice,” Mark says. There’s a pause as everyone looks to Donghyuck to introduce himself.

It’s so weird to be seen as strangers. To these people, Mark doesn’t know Donghyuck, has never known Donghyuck, doesn’t have any shared history with him whatsoever.

“We know each other,” Donghyuck says. He never even looks at Mark. “We went to middle school together.”

Can years of friendship really be made invisible like that? Mark stays to watch the round, but his eyes never stray from Donghyuck the entire time.

Another reason why Mark prefers LD: when he’s in a round, it’s him alone in the debate. There’s no messy infighting, no comparing of speaker points between partners, no reliance on another person. But even though he likes facing his opponent one-on-one, but he has a feeling he wouldn’t mind Donghyuck having his back. Misses it, even.

 

 

 

 

It’s November 1st, also known as the early decision deadline for NYU Stern, also known as one of the most nerve-wracking days of his damn life. With every passing day, Mark relates more to Rosencrantz and the questions of existentialism: Why does he try to find meaning in life? Isn’t his existence inherently pathetic?

“You’ll be _fine_ , Mark,” Yerim says over the phone. She submitted her application two days before the deadline for Columbia because she’s _Yerim_ and basically good at everything.

“Yeah,” Mark replies absently, not really paying attention. On one tab of his computer is the Common Application, filled out perfectly with all of his debate awards and somewhat-eloquent essays. Mark’s got Facebook open on the other tab—and yes, he had to dismantle two website-blockers before logging in, because Facebook is the most efficient time-waster he’s ever encountered—and notifications from Donghyuck and Lucas.

 **Hyuck:** tell me when you submit!! u can do it

 **Lucass:** MARK HAVE YOU SUBMITTED YET

 **Lucass:** LETS GET IT

 **Lucass:** I MEANT LETS GET IN BUT YEAH THAT TOO

“—Are you even paying attention, Mark?” Yerim asks. Her sigh crackles through the phone. “So much for being, quote, ‘emotional support’,” she grumbles.

“Sorry?” Mark asks. “Agh, this is so—weird.”

“Weird?”

“Surreal, I guess,” Mark adds. He moves his cursor, poised to click over the submit button. “I feel like I was studying for the SHSAT, like, yesterday.”

“It’s funny,” Yerim says, almost wistfully. “Joohyun told me to savor this—that high school would go by so quickly—and I never believed her.”

“It’s hard to believe things that haven’t happened to you, right?”

“Yeah. We always think we’re right, don’t we.”

“Most of the time, we are,” Mark points out.

“You’re so—” Mark can almost hear Yerim rolling her eyes. “Whatever. Have you submitted?”

“Uh, not yet.”

“Mark, it’s literally 11:50 pm.” Yerim sounds almost exasperated, and Mark’s surprised that it took her so long to get to this point.

“Okay, okay, I’ll do it,” Mark says. He holds his breath, and clicks submit.

There it is. He took the leap of faith, tried his hardest, and now everything’s in the hands of faceless admissions officers for the next month.

“Did you do it?” Yerim asks.

“Yeah,” Mark replies. Without a word, Yerim hangs up. Typical.

Mark switches over to the Facebook tab. As usual, Donghyuck tagged Jaemin in some meme—this one’s about Muji being an Office Depot for weebs, which, _ouch_.

 **Marcass:** yep I submitted!

 **Marcass:** lets get it haha

 **Lucass:** YEET

After finishing his conversation with Lucas—discussing the new Drake album in length, of course, because they both low-key want to marry him someday—Mark switches over to his chat with Donghyuck.

 **Mark:** I just submitted

 **Hyuck:** yayyyy!!! no more worries for the next couple of weeks right?

 **Mark:** Ha

 **Mark:** I have an essay on Waiting for Godot due in 12 hours…

 **Hyuck:** damn

 **Hyuck:** ttyl?

 **Mark:** Nah I kinda want a break haha

 **Mark:** I’m better at writing after midnight remember??

 **Hyuck:** yeah totally…

And sure, Mark may come into school feeling sleep deprived, closer to a vegetable than a human in terms of ability to function, but it’s definitely worth it.

 

 

 

 

Mark never ends up saving for the Xbox console, between the lychee popsicles he buys with Donghyuck and the increased pressure on his studies.

“Do you see this?” his mother asks. She points at the crack in the wall, the window that his dad will get around to fixing _this weekend, he promises_. All the while, her mouth twists up into a displeased line. “You’ll never live like this if you get into Stuyvesant.”

Mark looks at his mom. “The way we live,” he begins to say, before cutting himself off. They’ve always been solidly middle-class, and he always thought they were well off. He looks around the apartment, tries to view things the way his mother does. His eyes catch on the pencil marks on the doorframe, marking his height; the photo of Donghyuck and him at the school fair, taped over the crack; the plants his mother grows on their balcony, green with life.

It’s his home. He will never be able to fault his parents for that.

“Study hard,” his mother says, patting his shoulder. “This is important.”

Stuyvesant—acceptance rate lower than Stanford, the best high school in Manhattan, more than an hour away by train—and him. Mark Lee, the only child, carrying the weight of his parent’s expectations as best as he can.

 

 

 

 

Pretty soon, it’s time to start preparing for the next debate tournament. As a senior with less stress—hopefully, _hopefully_ —than junior year, Mark’s determined to make it past ToC quarterfinals. Last year had been decent, but he’s still improving as a debater. He still has more things to achieve.

He and Donghyuck end up getting an A on the catapult, which is pretty nice. Mark’s starting to get used to taking the 5:09 pm train home instead of the 3:47 pm one, anyway—the school library is a nice place to work on his cases. And, well, of course, Donghyuck’s presence is even nicer.

“ _Mark,_ ” Donghyuck whispers. He takes out an earbud, holding it out to him. “Listen to this.”

Mark glances down to Donghyuck’s phone. “Rewrite the Stars”, from the Greatest Showman.

“Isn’t it so good?”

“Yeah,” Mark says, mouth dry. _You know I want you,_ Zac Efron sings. _It’s not a secret I try to hide._

Mark takes the earbud out. “I gotta focus on my Neg case, okay,” he says.

“But you didn’t even get to the good part—”

“Shhh,” Mark counters. “Look, the librarian’s already glaring at us.”

Later, alone in his room, Mark listens to the song in full. It makes him wonder about Donghyuck. About how they somehow managed to go through most of high school without even acknowledging each other, yet inevitably ended up like—this. As friends, together.

 _It feels impossible_. Then, because Youtube’s Up Next algorithm is a serendipitous, mind-reading piece of artificial intelligence, “Breaking Free” comes up on autoplay. Of course it does.

It makes him wonder.

 **Mark:** Why did we stop being friends?

Donghyuck responds almost immediately.

 **Hyuck:** isnt it obvious

 **Hyuck:** i always thought our friendship would be stronger than what classes we took together & all but whatever lol

 **Mark:** I guess you were wrong haha

_Hyuck is typing…_

 

 

 

 

As a freshman at Stuyvesant, Mark learns a lot. Not just in his classes—which assign a ridiculous amount of homework compared to P.S. 80 back in Queens—but about the lifestyle he's expected to have at Stuy. Most of his classmates are from Manhattan or Brooklyn, not Flushing, Queens. Mark's had his eyes set on the Lincoln-Douglas team when Yerim drags him to the debate club, and the two of them join together. With debate comes its own set of expectations.

The entry fee for the club is $500. "It covers all of the busing expenses," Mr. Nakamoto, the advisor for Lincoln-Douglas debate, tells him. "If you have any concerns about being able to pay, you can always reach out—"

"—that's fine," Mark says quickly, taking the permission form. He regrets even asking about the cost.

That's not the worst of it. The best debate kids—the ones who work hard, who prepare over the summer too—go to debate camp. Mark looks up the camp Jaehyun, one of the captains, went to last summer.

Mark's mother furrows her brows as she tries to read over the website. Her sight's getting worse, but she refuses to get glasses. "They aren't covered by our insurance," she had said, when Mark asked. The same response when Mark wanted to switch to contacts—he's grateful enough for the frames he has right now.

"This... camp," she says. "Is it necessary?"

Mark nods. Months into LD, he's starting to realize what he wants. There's the Tournament of Champions, held in Kentucky, considered to be the holy grail of tournaments. Even getting a bid to _compete_ is difficult.

Jaehyun got his first bid during sophomore year, after going to the camp.

His mom sighs, rubbing her fingers into her temple as she thinks. "I can pay for it,” she says, lips pressing together. She looks to be on the verge of tears.

Mark pats her arm gently. "It's okay," he says. "I'll try to—make some money through tutoring or something."

There's nothing more depressing than seeing his mother—his pillar, his support—unable to provide for something. It's like losing faith in God, or something worse.

 

 

 

 

After he gets into NYU—thank _fuck_ —Mark’s entire focus centers around debate. It’s his last year, his NYU decision is binding and he can afford to slack off in school—he has nothing left to lose.

Each debate tournament is an adrenaline rush. The Princeton Classic, the Columbia Invitational, the Harvard National Forensics Tournament—Mark goes to all of them, using his tutoring money to cover whatever the school doesn’t. Somewhere in-between Princeton and Columbia, Jaemin and Jeno finally get together. Somewhere in-between Columbia and Harvard, Donghyuck has a mental breakdown over his Aff case.

Somewhere, in the mix of everything, Mark falls in love.

Here’s the thing about falling in love with someone he’s known for a good third of his life: if he tries to pinpoint the moment everything started, the moment he fell in love, the moment he realized his feelings—everything becomes hopeless, intangible. Mark’s never been able to grasp the why or how of Donghyuck, can merely reach the edges of his wispy thoughts and live in what is.

It isn’t concrete. And concrete is what Mark needs, what Mark thrives off of. He can work towards every goal he writes down, he can balance a million extracurriculars and schoolwork and everything if he plans it all out, but Donghyuck—Donghyuck is like a breath of fresh air in upstate New York, like dew and sunshine and all the natural things Mark’s life no longer holds. Mark lives between class and subway and home, between the sterile lab equipment in the chemistry classroom and the dusty corners of university debate tournaments and the plasticky counters of his home kitchen.

It’s something that isn’t fit for that kind of life, the type that Donghyuck holds, the type that promises renewal and hope and something sweet.

 

 

 

 

After the two-hour bus ride to Princeton—they had been stuck on the stretch of traffic crossing the George Washington bridge for at least half an hour—Mark’s exhausted when he enters the hotel room. He doesn’t even bother to take off his shoes before flopping down onto his bed, face-down, though he does make sure to keep his feet off the bed.

Jeno laughs the sight. “Already tired?” he asks, patting Mark’s head hesitantly.

It’s been tradition, ever since Jeno joined the LD team as a freshman, for Mark and Jeno to room together. Every tournament seems easier with Jeno’s calming presence in the hotel room. Mark needs it now, especially, at the first ToC bid tournament of his junior year. If he does well at this tournament, he’ll have one of the two bids he needs to qualify for the Tournament of Champions.

Last year’s Tournament of Champions had been a trainwreck and a half. As a sophomore, Mark had been hopelessly outmatched by his older, more experienced competitors.

This year, he needs to do better.

“Aghh,” Mark groans into the pillow, accidentally getting a mouthful of the pillowcase. “I can’t do this.”

“Take a shower,” Jeno suggests. He’s already taking his laptop out, ready to go over the framework for his cases. “It’ll clear your mind.”

By the time Mark’s in bed, hair wet and the overly thick sheets on the hotel bed wrapped around him in a tight bundle, he almost feels relaxed. He spent an hour going over his Neg case, and it’s now a lot stronger than it was even a couple of days ago.

“Mark,” Jeno whispers, after a minute or two of tossing and turning in his bed. “Are you asleep?”

“No,” Mark replies. This, too, is another reason why he loves rooming with Jeno.

“Mark.” Jeno pauses, and Mark can hear him rolling over to face the other bed. “Have you ever… been in love?”

Mark laughs, a short, aborted sound that feels bitter in his mouth. “I’m in my junior year of high school, man.”

Jeno sighs, and Mark can almost imagine his nose wrinkling in the darkness. “That doesn’t really answer anything.”

“I don’t think so,” Mark says, after a moment of consideration. “Maybe I liked someone, once.”

“What were they like?” Jeno asks, curious.

Mark thinks of bright afternoons and orange sunsets, of the saccharine Disney melodies that haunted his youth. No, it hadn’t been easy to forget about Donghyuck. It was this sort of amnesia Mark forced himself into, a new life and new friends and everything grey.

“Effervescent,” Mark says shortly. There’s no other way to put it.

“Anyways,” he continues, eager to change the subject, “do you like someone or something? Why are you asking me all of these questions?”

Jeno laughs quietly. “Again with the non-sequiturs?”

“Well, I’m always curious about my favorite little underclassman.”

“Maybe we should sleep,” Jeno suggests. “It’s getting late.”

And Mark, consumed with breaking to the semifinals the next day, then studying for his AP Chem test the day after that, forgets about the entire conversation.

 

 

 

 

 **Hyuck:** mark!! buy tickets for the musical!!

 **Hyuck:** tinyurl.com/ps80hsmtickets

 **Hyuck:** use code “DONGHYUCK” to get a discount

 **Hyuck:** if you don’t come i’ll cry T-T

Ever since Donghyuck got his phone, he’s been an incessant texter. Mark hasn’t really seen Donghyuck in person for six weeks—after school rehearsals for the musical are intense, and the two of them rarely cross paths during the day—and the substitute-online-Donghyuck is a mere echo of the real thing.

Mark _would_ be fine, he swears, it’s just that he spent the past four months before December preparing for the SHSAT, and as soon as he finished with _that_ Donghyuck’s started with the musical, and all of this has combined into a perfect storm that feels a bit like loneliness in his chest.

 **Markie:** haha yeah ofc c:

On the night of the musical, Mark watches in awe as Donghyuck sings and dances his heart out as P.S. 80’s very own Troy Bolton.

“He really shines, doesn’t he?” his mother comments, hushed, as Donghyuck serenades Herin onstage.

“Yeah,” Mark breathes. Donghyuck’s the brightest on the stage, surprisingly believable as a jock-turned-theater-kid considering that he’s a nerd-turned-theater-kid, and just—amazing.

Mark sneaks out of the auditorium a couple of minutes before everyone else during the standing ovation, hoping to catch Donghyuck before anyone else.

It doesn’t take long for Donghyuck to step out of the backstage area, already carrying a bouquet of flowers and stage makeup caked heavily on his face. He’s shiny with sweat, but it only makes him glow under the fluorescent school lighting.

“Mark!” Donghyuck calls. He drops his bouquet on the floor, running over to embrace Mark. They’re nearly the same height. “How was it? Did you like it?”

“You were so good,” Mark murmurs. “You were—you’re _so_ talented, what the hell.”

In those few quiet moments—before the audience will stream out of the auditorium and crowd Donghyuck with congratulations, before anyone else is around—all is right.

 

 

 

 

The day after junior prom, Mark does what’s expected of him. He changes his Facebook cover photo to the group photo all of the juniors took with their dates—deliberately choosing the one where Lucas is looking in the other direction, just for laughs. He posts a new profile picture, too, the photo Yerim took of him and Jeno laughing together.

 **Mark Lee:** junior prom with this guy ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

It doesn’t take long for the comments and heart-reacts to pour in.

 **Jeno Lee:** prom was fun!! lmfao lets get it ( _5 heart reacts_ )

 **Yerim Kim:** photo credits? Cuties

 **Renjun Huang:** **Jaemin Na** how do you feel about this ( _1 angry react_ )

 **Lucas Wong:** YEET ( _2 laugh reacts_ )

There’s one thing Mark doesn’t expect: a Messenger notification from Donghyuck.

 **Donghyuck Lee:** jeno seems really happy

 **Donghyuck Lee:** i’m glad you asked him :]]

 **Mark Lee:** You know we’re just friends, right? He doesn’t even like me lol

_Donghyuck Lee is typing…_

 

 

 

 

“Mark. _Mark._ Mark Lee, listen to me!”

Mark looks up from his SHSAT practice test, brows furrowing in annoyance. “Come on, I’m taking a practice test,” he says. “Can’t it wait?” These days, usually Donghyuck’s good with leaving him alone for at least an hour before he starts to get antsy. The entrance exam for Stuyvesant is in less than a month, in November, and with every passing day, Mark feels the pressure increase tenfold.

“This won’t take long,” Donghyuck says. He’s been forced to sit still at the other end of the apartment, where the family room melds into the kitchen. One wire of his headphones dangles from the side of his ears.

“What is it?” Mark says. Donghyuck gestures for him to sit down on the couch.

“Tell me…” Donghyuck begins, uncharacteristically shy, “does this sound good?”

“ _You know the world can see us,_ ” he sings. “ _In a way that’s different from who we are…_ ”

Mark’s no stranger to Donghyuck’s voice, the way he hums along to songs and insists on reciting Michael Jackson lyrics. But this— _this_ is something that leaves him breathless, astonished, for a moment.

“So?” Donghyuck asks, expectant. It didn’t take long for him to finish his rendition of “Breaking Free”. “What d’you think?”

“You’re really good,” Mark says, as earnest as he can possibly be. Any trace of irritation he felt from his practice test being interrupted washed away upon hearing Donghyuck’s voice. It’s as calming as waves on a beach.

“I’ve been thinking of auditioning for the musical,” Donghyuck says, hesitantly. The sun is starting to set, visible from the window behind him, and it casts his face in orange shadows.

Mark remembers seeing the posters advertising the auditions, though he never thought much of it. He’s never been interested in singing or musicals all that much.

“You should,” he says. “I can just picture it—Hyuck, the star of P.S. 80’s production of _High School Musical: The Musical._ ”

Donghyuck grins at him, eyes bright. “You think so? You really think so?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Mark confirms. “I do.”

 

 

 

 

“MARK LEE!” Jaemin Na shouts, striding into the Lincoln-Douglas practice room. “We need to _talk_.” Mark’s helping with spreading drills—Sandy, one of the newest freshmen, sounds like she’s a decade older when she opens her mouth—and drops his timer.

Sandy pauses. “Should I continue…?”

Mark sighs. “This shouldn’t take long,” he tells her, before grabbing Jaemin by the arm and dragging him out into the hallway.

“What is it?” Mark asks, confused. He and Jaemin have barely traded words to each other—the most interaction they’ve ever had was when they shared gym class last semester. By the virtue of being the only two debate kids in the period, they stuck together.

“I’m telling you,” Jaemin says, eyes narrowing. “As Jeno’s best friend, if you ever _dare_ break his heart—”

“Wait a second,” Mark interrupts. “Break his heart?” He can’t help it; he laughs at the absurdity of the situation.

“I know you think you’re _absolutely fully capable_ , or something,” Jaemin says. He’s mocking the most memorable line from Mark’s campaign speech for LD captaincy. “But this is serious!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, Jeno’s heart is very important to you,” Mark replies seriously.

“ _Bruh_ —”

“Don’t _bruh_ me,” Mark says. “I’m being legit. Why does everyone think Jeno has a crush on me?”

“Because he does?” Jaemin replies. He crosses his arms, leaning back against the wall. “Wow, you really are oblivious.”

Something about what Jaemin says seems familiar. It sets Mark on edge, makes him grit his teeth.

“No, you,” he counters. “Jeno definitely doesn’t like me, he likes—” he breaks off. _Shit._

Jaemin’s eyes widen. “Who?” he asks, stepping closer to Mark. “Nevermind, I don’t want to know. Actually, maybe I do. Actually—”

“I’m not saying,” Mark insists.

Jaemin steps closer like he’s trying to pull the Johnson Treatment on Mark. Typical Public Forum kid, always focused on perceptual dominance.

Too bad that the words are what really matter in a debate.

“I don’t have time for this stupid crushing bullshit,” Mark says finally. “I’m taking the SAT in two days, and there’s finals, and—”

Mark’s worried about college, about Donghyuck never replying to his _He doesn’t like me lol_ from last week, about too many things. He can’t do this.

With that, Mark walks away.

 

 

 

 

During the small amount of time between Mark taking the SAT—it was pretty easy, even the critical reading section—and the upcoming finals, Mark manages to corner Jeno at the library.

“We need to talk,” both of them say in unison.

“Shit,” Jeno says. “Alright, you first.”

Mark’s never been more thankful to not share a free period with Donghyuck or Jaemin. Lucas and Yerim are sitting with them, too, but they’re too involved in who’ll win ToCs—Mark’s bet is on Chan Lee from California—to listen.

“Mind telling me why everyone thinks you have a crush on me?” Mark asks.

“Oh.” Jeno blushes. “Well, I kind of did, at first, during freshman year.”

“You’re a junior,” Mark says. “Stop bullshitting me, I _know_ who you like.”

“Jaemin asked me who I liked during debate camp,” Jeno says. “I was kinda put on the spot, you know?”

“And then he told Donghyuck,” Mark infers. He isn’t surprised.

“And then—yeah.” Jeno slumps forward, resting his elbows on the table. They’re supposed to be working, probably—Mark’s never finished homework without the help of his lunch period, except maybe in freshman year—but the librarian hasn’t yelled at them yet.

“What did you have to tell me?” Mark asks.

“What’s with you and Donghyuck?”

Mark busies himself with pulling out his Latin homework so that he doesn’t have to make eye contact with Jeno.

“What’s with us,” Mark says. He rummages around for a pencil; Jeno hands him one of the Muji pens he’s pilfered from Jaemin. “We just don’t know each other, I don’t know.”

 _Don’t know each other anymore,_ his brain so helpfully corrects.

“Donghyuck gets really weird when I mention you,” Jeno replies. “It’s—awkward? Yeah, awkward.”

Mark stares down at his Latin homework. Nothing seems even remotely comprehensible right now, and he’s been taking Latin since freshman year.

“Sometimes,” Mark says, voice tight, “you just have to accept that you can’t be friends with everyone.” He doesn’t know how else to put it— _Yeah, Donghyuck was my best friend, except now we act like we don’t know each other!_ —without sounding both awkward and completely heartbroken.

It was a long time ago. Mark misses being friends, sure, but—they’ve both changed. It’s time for him to leave that friendship in the past.

 

 

 

 

Donghyuck stops by the Lincoln-Douglas practice rooms after school, grinning as he sticks his head through the doorway.

“How’s it going?” he calls.

He, Yerim, and Jeno are the only ones left. It’s the end of the debate season, late April, and the Tournament of Champions is in less than a week.

“Fine, totally fine,” Jeno calls. “I’m not nervous at all. Totally not.”

Yerim elbows Jeno in the side. “Stop that,” she says. “You’ll do _fine_.”

Yeah, Mark isn’t the only one feeling more than a little nervous for the last debate tournament of his high school career.

“How’s your prep?” Mark asks, heading towards Donghyuck. “I saw Jaemin drinking that 6-shot espresso thing from Starbucks again.”

Donghyuck sighs, exasperated. “I _told_ him not to drink that, it makes him all jittery,” he says. “But yeah, our Neg case is a lot better than it was over the weekend.”

“That’s good.” Mark’s relieved, really, but his mind’s more focused on his own Neg case. Plea bargaining has always been one of his least favorite debate topics, and now it’s the one he has to debate at ToC.

“You seem tired, too.” Donghyuck hesitates, then reaches out to pat Mark’s shoulder. It’s a small comfort. “Take care.”

“Yeah, okay,” Mark says. He glances at the clock. They have an hour left before they have to catch the train. “Alright, I’m gonna go back to prepping, okay?”

“Yeah,” Donghyuck says, turning to leave.

When Mark walks back over to Jeno and Yerim, the two of them are staring at him.

“How long do you think it’ll take?” Jeno asks, eyes never leaving Mark’s face.

Yerim shrugs. “I give it a week. Maybe two.”

Jeno rolls his eyes. “No, Mark’s _oblivious_. I’m saying graduation.”

“What d’you mean?” Mark asks, sitting down beside them.

“Nothing,” Jeno says quickly. “Let’s talk about plea bargaining—”

 

 

 

 

“Don’t be so stressed, Mark,” his mom calls. It’s 1 am. Mark’s still working on the framework for his Neg case.

“Why? This is important,” Mark says. He can see the shadow of his mother behind the door, silent in her worry.

“You already got into Stern—”

“I don’t _do_ debate because it’s prestigious,” Mark says. “I didn’t _do_ it to get into an Ivy League, or look good on my resume.” There’s nothing that frustrates him more than that—than _this_ , than this expectation that he’s doing things for his future only. He wants to live in the present, too.

“Mark, that’s not what I meant—”

“That _is_ what you mean,” Mark says. He stares at the screen of his laptop. _The difficulty of bridging the gaps between… legal principles…_

She steps into the room with a sigh, the door creaking as she closes it shut.

“Mark, come here,” she says, eyes soft and smile weary.

Mark lets himself be held for the first time in months, maybe years. It’s the type of comfort that sinks through his skin, bone-deep.

“I’ve always wanted the best for you,” she says, sounding impossibly sad. “Never doubt that.”

 

 

 

 

Mark spends most of freshman year, then, adjusting to the homework load and tutoring middle schoolers. It's easy for him to get students, back in Flushing—just say the name Stuyvesant and they'll look at him in awe for a split-second. Most of them are preparing for the SHSAT to enter one of New York's specialized schools themselves.

His lifestyle changes, as a result. Mark develops the habit of waking up at 5:00 am to finish up his homework. Yerim and Lucas keep dragging him to Coco to get boba. Everyone at Stuy uses Facebook to message each other, and Mark soon forgets to even check his text messages.

In that way, he supposes, it's easy to forget about Donghyuck. It's easy to tell himself that he'll reply the next day, choosing to go to sleep instead. It's easy to see one of Donghyuck's favorite ASMR videos pop up in his Youtube suggested videos and click out to continue watching the ToC Semifinals between Taeyong Lee and Doyoung Kim instead.

It would make him too sad, he thinks. Mark’s days consist of being shuttled from school to the apartment through 90-minute bus rides and back. He can’t stand a minute of being home anymore. Now that he’s seen the Stuyvesant kids, the entitled, brilliant students that populate every class, the sprawling apartments and spring break vacations to Europe—

He comes back home and sees the cracks in the wall and the leaky faucet and the window that still lets in a draft during the winter and—hates it.

 

 

 

 

And then, suddenly, it’s The Day. Mark dresses quickly in the hotel room, scarfing down breakfast as fast as possible before opening his laptop up. He scans over his cases, the possible cross-examination questions he might get, everything. He’s prepared for this.

Every round passes by in a blur. He wins most of his rounds, only losing once to Tzuyu Chou of Illinois. It’s a great record, good enough to break to the double octofinals.

That’s about as good as he did during junior year.

There’s a break for lunch, and all of the debaters convene to discuss their rounds.

“How’d it go?” Mark asks Donghyuck.

Donghyuck shrugs. “5-1.”

“Damn,” Mark says, impressed. Only one loss is pretty damn good.

“Jaemin went _off_ during crossfire, though,” Donghyuck says. “Saved my ass so many times.”

“That’s what partners are for, right?” Jaemin says, patting Donghyuck’s shoulder before turning to continue his conversation with Jeno.

“Yeah,” Donghyuck says. He looks at Mark again, carefully. “Good luck, alright?”

“You too,” Mark echoes.

He narrowly ekes out a victory in double octofinals, then wins easily on his Aff case during the octofinals.

“Mark!” Donghyuck calls. “Wait up!”

Mark turns around, searching for the sound. It’s from Donghyuck, running down the hallway towards him.

“Jeno texted me,” Donghyuck says breathlessly. “You made quarterfinals? When’s your round?”

“In twenty minutes,” Mark says. “But—” he hesitates. “How did it go?”

Donghyuck’s smile dims. “Lost out during octos,” he says. “At least it means we already have a bid for next year, though.”

Mark hugs him, wrapping his arms around Donghyuck’s body as best as he possibly can.

“Congrats,” Mark whispers. “You’ll do even better next year.”

When he lets go, Donghyuck looks almost—shocked. His mouth hangs wide open in astonishment.

Mark laughs. “You look like you’re trying to catch flies or something,” he says uneasily, trying to play everything off.

“Yeah,” Donghyuck agrees. “I mean, no, _what?_ ”

“Are you gonna watch my round?” Mark asks. He’s full-on grinning, now. Something about Donghyuck inspires euphoria like nothing else.

“Of course.”

“Then let’s _go_ ,” Mark says, tugging on Donghyuck’s wrist. It must look ridiculous—two teenage boys in their suits, tussling around on the University of Kentucky campus—but it feels _right_.

 

 

 

 

His opponent is Chan Lee from California, golden boy of this year’s debate circuit. He smiles shyly and waves before the debate starts.

“I’m Chan,” he says. “Nice to meet you.”

“Mark Lee,” Mark replies. “Nice to meet you too, I guess.”

And then the debate starts. It’s alright, at first—Chan’s case is well-constructed, but Mark sees some places for rebuttal, and Mark’s own spreading goes well—but then they get to the cross-examination.

As far as debaters go, Chan Lee is well-known for ripping arguments into itty-bitty pieces during cross-examination. This round is no different, even though Mark tries to answer his questions as best as possible. By the end of it, it’s clear who the winner is.

Mark looks out, beyond the judges, to where the audience is watching. Donghyuck catches his eye, mouths something that he can’t make out from such a far distance.

Once the judges have made their decision—casting their vote, 3-0, for Chan—Mark turns to his opponent.

“Good luck for your next rounds,” Mark says. Of course he’s—disappointed about losing, but he couldn’t have imagined ending his Lincoln-Douglas high school record in a better way.

Once Mark steps out of the room, he’s immediately swarmed by Jaemin, Donghyuck, and Jeno.

Jeno gives him a high-five. “Dude, good job,” he says. “Chan is fucking amazing at cross-x.”

“Yeah, you did well,” Jaemin adds. “Now, uh, we’ll leave you two to…” he trails off suggestively, walking away with Jeno in tow.

As soon as they leave, Donghyuck turns to him.

“Congratulations,” he says.

Mark looks down, scuffing the toe of his shoe on the floor. “I could’ve done better.”

“Maybe,” Donghyuck says. “But does that really matter? You can’t change the past.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Hey, listen up.” Donghyuck grabs both of Mark’s shoulders, looking at him directly in the eyes.

“What?” Mark asks.

“You debated really, really well today,” Donghyuck says. “Your case was _good_ —at least the parts that I could understand—and you held up your own against crossfire.”

“Crossfire?”

“Cross-examinations, whatever you LD kids call it,” Donghyuck says. He pauses, looking at Mark. “Are you alright?”

Mark doesn’t answer. Donghyuck’s hands are still gripping onto his shoulders.

Donghyuck’s magnetic, he realizes. Mark can look for him in any room and his eyes will inexplicably be drawn over, like negative finding positive. Mark can try to forget it, try to forget him, but Donghyuck’s a force that’s strong as the Earth itself.

Mark reaches out, runs a thumb across Donghyuck’s cheek. It warms his fingers. Donghyuck shivers.

“What…” Donghyuck begins to say.

Mark leans in, closer and closer, till their lips meet in a kiss. But something about it—just the feeling of having Donghyuck so close, in his hands, _here_ —strikes a wave of panic in him. It’s too good to be true.

He breaks away after a split-second, eyes wide.

“What—” Donghyuck says, brows furrowed, and Mark can’t hear anything else because he runs—away, away, away.

 

 

 

 

“Are you gonna miss me?” Donghyuck asks. He bites off the end of the popsicle, chewing loudly.

Mark winces. “I can’t believe you _bite_ your popsicles,” he says. They’re sitting outside, underneath the shade, feet crossed against the cement beneath. The sun beats down on the back of his neck.

“It’s more efficient.” Donghyuck takes another chomp. “But will you miss me?”

“What do _you_ think?” Mark asks. A non-answer if there ever was one.

“ _Mark_.” Donghyuck’s eyes are wide, mouth pulled into a plaintive pout. There’s a bit of lychee popsicle stuck to his cheek. “Don’t forget about me when you’re with all the geniuses at Stuy.”

And here it is. Here’s the real reason why Mark stopped being friends with Donghyuck: because he looked at him, looked at this bright, shining boy, and was afraid of getting closer, of getting burned.

“Of course I’ll miss you,” Mark says finally. “But it’s easy to keep in touch.”

It would be difficult to forget Donghyuck Lee.

 

 

 

 

Mark knocks on Donghyuck’s hotel room door, once, then twice.

The door swings open. “What, Jaemin, did Jeno not let you—” Donghyuck breaks off as soon he sees who it is. “Oh.”

Donghyuck’s face quickly smooths itself over into some semblance of neutrality. It’s like looking at the ocean, from a distance, and seeing nothing besides the shining surface. It’s like sophomore year, pretending to be strangers.

“What is it?” Donghyuck asks, impatient. His eyes are slightly red, Mark notes.

“Jeno kicked me out,” Mark says. “I don’t even _want_ to know what’s going on with Jaemin over there.” He pauses, looking over Donghyuck carefully. “Please let me in?”

Donghyuck nods silently, and the two of them enter the room. Mark chooses to sit on the edge of Jaemin’s bed, facing Donghyuck.

Donghyuck doesn’t look at him. He pulls out his phone, scrolling through his Facebook feed.

So that’s how it’s going to go. Okay. Mark clears his throat.

“I’m sorry, we should... talk,” he says. “About what happened.”

Donghyuck shuts his phone off and chucks it onto his bed. “Yeah, we _should_ ,” he says. “But you’re too afraid, aren’t you?”

“What—what do you mean?” Mark asks. It’s always easier to feign ignorance, to figure out what Donghyuck truly _means_ before responding to it.

Donghyuck yawns, stretching his feet out so that his sock-covered toes skim down the side of Mark’s shin.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve run away,” Donghyuck says, finally. He looks up, gaze fierce. “Why—why did you do it?”

“The first time?”

“Every time.”

Mark sighs. “I was confused, then. I thought it would ruin our friendship.”

“But we stopped being friends anyway?” Donghyuck asks, raising an eyebrow. “Make it make sense.”

“I regret it,” Mark says, finally, staring down at his feet. “Does _that_ make sense?”

“But now,” Donghyuck presses. “This. Why again?”

Mark’s silent for a couple of moments. These things, feelings, are so—intangible. He prides himself on his eloquence, on being able to argue out of anything, but this— _this_ is one thing he is not capable of.

“Mark, I like you,” Donghyuck says, breaking the silence. “You’ve always known, haven’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

“But you don’t feel the same way?” Donghyuck asks, incredulous.

“That doesn’t matter,” Mark says. He stands up, ready to leave. He can't do this. 

“Of course it matters, you dumbass—” Donghyuck gets up as well, arms crossed.

“You want to know _why_ we can’t be together?” Mark asks Donghyuck. He shakes his head ruefully, head rushing. “I can’t even begin to count the reasons.”

“Do you think you can _debate_ me out of my feelings?” Donghyuck asks, scathing. He crosses his arms. “Fine, try me.”

Mark rolls his eyes. “I’m going to college in a couple of months—”

“—long distance relationships exist,” Donghyuck insists. He steps closer, eyes gleaming with a sort of magnetic determination that’s hard to look away from.

“—you need to focus on school, what the hell,” Mark continues, trying his best to ignore Donghyuck. It’s hard to ignore the overwhelming. “You’re a junior—”

“—imagine,” Donghyuck breathes, so close, “thinking that I don’t know how to get my priorities straight—”

“—I’m serious, you need to focus,” Mark says. He can’t stand making eye-contact with Donghyuck for so long, tries to focus on some non-offensive part of Donghyuck’s ear. “In a year, when you get into your dream college, or whatever, this won’t matter—”

“—imagine thinking,” Donghyuck repeats, eyes bright, “that I would _ever_ forget you, Mark Lee.”

He leans in, lips mere inches away from Mark’s, before he pauses. “If you say no, I’ll do it. I’ll stop trying. I’ll pretend this never happened.”

Mark swallows, eyes fluttering shut. It’s as much as an agreement as he’ll ever give to Donghyuck—Donghyuck’s always been the type to grab at any opportunity he can, anyway.

“That’s what I thought,” Donghyuck murmurs. Sweetly, gently, his palm cups Mark’s cheek.

Mark’s never been able to hide much of anything from Donghyuck. This, too, is the same: his body betrays him the way words cannot. He caves—to the heat of Donghyuck’s touch, to the softness of his heart, to what, he doesn’t know. He caves, but it’s only for a second. Mark can be willful when he wants to.

Mark breaks away. “This,” he gestures between the two of them, “it’s—we couldn’t even be friends. What makes you think this will work?” This time, it isn’t out of an attempt to be a derisive, but rather as a question. It’s one that Mark’s thought a lot about.

Donghyuck flinches as if he’s been hit. “We couldn’t even be friends,” he repeats thoughtfully. “We never really were _friends_ , were we?” He flashes Mark a sharp smile at that, before heaving a sigh. “I don’t—How the hell am I supposed to know the answers to all of your questions?”

“I don’t know,” Mark says. “You’ve always been so—certain. About everything.” Not everything, not really, but this—this is the one thing he knows Donghyuck has never lost faith in.

“Why do we keep coming back to this?” Donghyuck asks. “This, us, this thing—” he breaks off, eyes wide. For the first time tonight, he seems his age: young and soft with vulnerability.

“This thing,” Donghyuck repeats, voice more certain. “Us. Do you think I haven’t tried to forget about you? Forget that we were friends? Every time I think—oh, maybe I’ll get over him.” He reaches down to hold Mark’s hand, weaving their fingers together.

“Every single fucking time,” Donghyuck continues. “But then maybe I’ll see you—doesn’t have to be up close, either—and I’ll remember.” He breathes heavily, then continues. “And—and it’s like that feeling never left.”

Mark keeps closing his eyes. It’s too much—Donghyuck’s sweet smell, the taste of him still lingering on Mark’s lips, the sound of their breaths intertwining, _everything_. He wants to live in the present, in this moment.

“Do you understand now?” Donghyuck asks.

Mark squeezes Donghyuck’s hand. Donghyuck’s touch tethers him, grounds him in some inexplicable way that Mark can’t put words to. Everything in tangles, intangible, hurting in a numbed sort of way.

“I’ve always understood,” Mark says. That much is the truth.

 

 

 

 

On the flight back to LaGuardia, everyone does their usual round of swapping to be seated next to their friends—except for Mr. Nakamoto, of course, who ends up next to the “bane of his existence” (the Public Forum coach)—and Mark finds himself between Donghyuck and Jeno. Jaemin’s sitting across the aisle from Jeno, the two of them leaning over their seats to talk to each other and ducking out of the way every time flight attendants pass by.

“So, about last night,” Mark begins. He pauses, unsure of exactly what to say. Last night had been pretty nice, actually, considering that the two of them fell asleep after mere minutes together, exhausted. Mark woke up to Jaemin Na snapping pictures of him and Donghyuck cuddled around each other—"It's for the bet," Jaemin explains, "I need to provide photographic evidence"—at approximately 6 am, but he still feels miraculously well-rested. 

Donghyuck raises an eyebrow. “Do you realize how _weird_ that sounds?” He’s blushing. He’s blushing, and it’s _cute_.

“You didn’t have to make it weird,” Mark challenges. 

“Still!” Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “Okay, what were you saying?”

“Donghyuck,” Mark says. He pauses, savoring the name in his mouth.

“Mark,” Donghyuck mimics, eyes soft. He leans in closer.

“Donghyuck,” Mark repeats, pausing dramatically. “Will you… go out with me?”

 

 

 

 

 **Mark Lee:** Thank you for prom and the best senior year ever **Donghyuck Lee**

 **Yerim Kim:** love reacts only ( _3 heart reacts_ )

 **Donghyuck Lee:** for why did u make the caption so cheesy ( _10 laugh reacts_ )

 **Jaemin Na:** Maybe Love Is Real

 **Jeno Lee:** **Jaemin Na** why u gotta do me so dirty

 **Lucas Wong** : :DDD

 **Renjun Huang:** why is the comments section such a mess

 **Mark Lee:** **Renjun Huang** I wish I knew why haha ( _1 sad react_ )

 

**Author's Note:**

> a mini playlist: [breaking free](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TYkVxoCgf-E) / [rewrite the stars](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hwYRqbUn7zg) / [older](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r1Fx0tqK5Z4) / [sunset lover](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wuCK-oiE3rM) / [colors](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F0tkdTIMwBk) (tq kai for the last one)
> 
> comments & kudos are appreciated, and as always, thanks for reading! i miss markhyuck ;;__;;
> 
> [twt](http://twitter.com/mathmxrk) / [cc](http://curiouscat.me/mathmxrk) / feel free to leave concrit [here](https://markohmark.dreamwidth.org/2671.html) / [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/fullmoonjournal)


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